Let Us Eat Cake (6 page)

“Good. There’s nothing sexy about abuse.” If I’d been a pushover in the past, I was definitely turning a new leaf. No more bad treatment for me.

“Is that what you think kink is? Abuse?”

His expression changed. The fire in his eyes went out and he looked sad. I was guilt-ridden that I’d used that word.

“I don’t know. I don’t know much about it.”

“But you do know me.” His face was stern. I had definitely insulted him.

“Yeah.”

“So maybe you can trust what I say when I tell you that I would never ever cause you harm or put you in a situation that scares you.”

“I like being a little scared,” I admitted in a soft voice.

“Everyone does. I’m scared right now.”

“Are you?” For some reason, this admission shocked me. It was probably because Jeff struck me as the kind of guy who wasn’t frightened of anything.

He nodded. “Afraid you’ll get up off my couch, turn your back on me and walk away forever.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Good.”

Chapter Seven

“Come,” Jeff said, taking my hand. “I’ve prepared something for you.”

“Oh?”

“I think you’ll like what you see.”

He stopped in front of what I presumed to be his bedroom door and held me, signaling for me to wait. He slipped in. I heard him strike a match and smelled the searing carbon and wood. Then another and another.

“Enter,” he said.

The room was lit by candles only. They were set up all around, on shelves and dressers. In the middle of the room where one would expect to find a bed, there was instead something that looked like a cot. A swing. There were cuffs hanging from the midpoints. There was an opened box of ties and ropes and gags and whips and, man oh man, this guy was serious.

Jeff grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me. It was just like the last time. I lost all sense of myself and was entranced by his touch.

“I won’t do anything to hurt you, Rachel,” he whispered. He slid his hands down to my waist and held me from behind. “This is all about giving you pleasure.”

“Whoa,” I said, unable to hide my reaction to the room. “Holy shit. You
are
hardcore.”

“I hope you’re not intimidated.” He nuzzled into my neck and kissed me just below the ear. The sensation distracted me.

“I am.”
Who wouldn’t be?
You’d have to be a completely twenty-four-seven lifestyle submissive like I’ve read about in paperback novels to find this normal.

“Do you want to go back out to the living room? Have a bit more of a regular date first?”

What did he mean by
first
?

I ignored his question and went straight for the goods. The swing. “How does this work?” I asked, feeling the soft worn leather seat straps. I didn’t even know where my legs would go or whether he’d want me facing up or down or what. It looked sexy on its own, but also like something out of the Marquis de Sade’s imagination.

“There are many ways to use this.”

I couldn’t believe how collected he was, as though he were showing me a blender with many different attachments. Maybe I was a tad conservative, but this really blew my mind.

“So you want to flog me? Spank me? Is that it?”

“Depends.”

On what?
I stood there, dumbstruck. Sure, I’d expected to sleep with him again and maybe I had even half expected some kind of prop like a blindfold or something like that, but a swing? This was unreal.

Very calmly, almost as though he was shy about it, he said, “It depends on what you and I negotiate ahead of time. It’s all about what you want.”

I scoffed. Hardly. The guy had somewhere in the ballpark of ten grand’s worth of stuff on the off chance that he’d run into
me?
As if.

“How long have you been hardwired this way?” I asked. Maybe it was rude.
Oh well.

“Honestly, since I can remember.”

I looked to him, then to the swing, then back at him.

“So you like to exert dominance over women. What does that give you?” Because I was pretty sure that it was something creepy. It was just too much. As much as I wanted to trust him and explore a new side of myself, I wasn’t exactly ready for all of this.

I walked past him and into the hallway. Suddenly, the candlelight gave me the willies. There was nowhere to sit and talk. We’d skipped foreplay and gone straight into the remotest depths of a dungeon I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready to enter.

He followed me out. “Rachel.”

“I should go. This is too weird, even for me. And I’m usually into weird.”

“I was so certain about you,” he said in a tone that told me he wanted me to stay. His eyes exuded disappointment. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Yeah. Very.” From my purse, I procured the sweater I’d brought to wear overtop of the dress if I got cold and started to fumble with it to find the sleeves.

“Don’t go.” He clutched it and held it firmly in his grasp.

“Give it here,” I ordered.

“I wouldn’t have shown you that room if I’d known it would make you want to leave.”

“What the hell did you think? You honestly thought you read my mind to the point of thinking I wanted to be friggin’ tied up and gagged and…then what? Beaten? You don’t know me.” I was downright huffy.

I yanked my sweater from his clutch and put it on.

“I was never planning on beating you. I wouldn’t do that. You misunderstood my intentions completely. This really is all new to you, isn’t it?”

It was as though he couldn’t believe I wasn’t some sort of lifestyle submissive. Did I really emanate that energy?

“New and soon to be really old.” I almost had my parka on then I planned to slam his door with much fanfare.

But then I saw the longing look in his eyes. There he was again, that quiet handsome guy from high school who had bedazzled me. Those emerald eyes of his gleamed in the dimly lit foyer of his apartment and with no words spoken at all, he had somehow convinced me to stay.

Chapter Eight

Standing an arm’s length from him with my parka only halfway on, I froze. If I left now, it was over between us and I had come here already convinced that there was something to Jeff that I had never experienced before and perhaps would never come across again. Something told me he did grasp an element of who I was and I didn’t want to walk out on that. I let my coat fall to the floor.

“Rachel,” he said, and cupped my face between his palms. He kissed me. It was a long, slow kiss that reminded me of the other night. The chemistry between us was palpable.

“Let’s start this evening over,” he said.

“I’d like that,” I agreed. Then, laughing nervously and putting my hand out to him as a joke, I said, “I’m Rachel and I’m new to submission.”

I thought he’d laugh, but he didn’t. He took my hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you for staying.”

Picking my parka off the floor and hanging it up, he said, “Won’t you come in? Make yourself at home on the couch?”

“Sure,” I said.

Then he sat down next to me on his gray couch and took my hand. “I’m sorry I pressured you.”

Okay, confession time. I’d freaked out earlier, but my intuition told me that Jeff was a dependable guy, one who could be trusted. “You didn’t. I mean, I didn’t exactly object the other night when you said you saw the submissive streak in me. The truth is, I was taken aback that you said so because you’re the first to notice.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Uh, yes,” I said. Did he find that strange? Did he really see some kind of neon sign that no one else saw? “I didn’t know it was obvious.”

“It probably isn’t. I’m just attuned,” he said. He lingered in the moment as though there was much more he wanted to say. His eyes fixed on the painting on the wall behind me. “It’s a big deal to discover this side of yourself.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “But it felt right when you said it. All week long I’ve been walking around wondering what happened last time I was over. The sparks were just flying.”

“I’m glad you felt that way too. We owe it to each other and to ourselves to figure out what it is.”

“I thought about you a lot this week.”

He smiled. It was clear that he was flattered. Then he got a mischievous look. “Were you turned on?”

I nodded.

“Tell me more,” he commanded.

I looked down. How could I? I could barely think some of those thoughts, let alone talk about them. “I’m shy.”

“You have to trust me. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

“But…”

“Rachel,” he said in a demanding tone. “Everything we do together is based on trust. That’s what this type of dynamic is about. When you’re inexperienced, it’s easy to think that it’s about this or that thing—a whip or a paddle—but it’s not about the accessories. It’s all about the connection.”

I thought about that. “I did find the swing kind of distracting.”

“Let’s not start there,” he said. “In fact, forget about that room. Let’s start up here.” He pointed to his temple then to mine. It was a gesture to suggest that our minds were connected by an invisible thread. Maybe they were, because he did have the power to put me at ease.

I didn’t know what to say.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I think so. But I’m not sure why.”

I had been reluctant to trust anyone, especially a guy I was attracted to. It had resulted in too much misery and I had promised myself to be smarter. But in that moment, I realized that somehow Jeff had presented himself as someone solid and sound.

“Have I given you any reason not to?”

“No.” In fact, he was everything I had stopped believing in.

“Well, then…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. He was like a lawyer making the final statement of a highly persuasive and self-evident case.

“Tell me what you saw the last time. What made you think that I was submissive?” Then, almost self-consciously, I blurted, “Because I’ve spent most of my life trying to pretend I’m not.”

“I could tell from the way you carried yourself. You’re used to being in control.”

There it was. The nugget of truth I could not deny. As the oldest child in a pretty messed up family, I learned to parent my younger siblings from an age that most people call childhood. I was always the responsible one, cleaning up the crap my parents dished out by being drunk or passed out or unemployed or whatever.

“I have had a lot of responsibility. It’s true,” I said.

“Sometimes it’s nice to not be in charge.”

He stretched his arm out far enough to semi-cradle me. Then, with gentle strokes, he massaged the side of my shoulder with his strong fingers.

“That feels good.”

“I want you to give in to your yearning for pleasure.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, as I turned to give him more access to the back of my neck and the tops of my shoulders. “Oh…”

I moaned as he kneaded me even more.

“That’s it,” he said gently. “Don’t resist me.”

“I won’t,” I said.

“That’s a good girl.”

Before long, I had presented my back to him completely. I wanted nothing more than to feel his strength infuse me. Was this what it was like to be submissive? Why had I pictured something much kinkier?

“Isn’t that better?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I relaxed. The tension subsided. I even felt a little silly for having been so pent-up with frustration that I had almost left. Now, with his hands all over my upper back, rubbing the muscles that never got any attention, I gave in to that desire he spoke of. Pleasure. It was true that I denied myself.

Jeff got up, went to the kitchen then came back with two refilled mugs of tea, this time on a small tray. He set it down in front of us and retook his spot. Warm aromas of clove and cinnamon filled the air, giving me a further sense of security.

“Now,” Jeff said, putting his hands back on my shoulders. “Let’s get to know each other better.”

I purred at his touch. He could talk at length about accounting if he wanted, I would still be in heaven with his strong hands kneading my shoulders.

“I’d like that.”

He leaned forward and very quietly, he said, “Why don’t you start by telling me about one of those images you find hard to talk about.”

“Are you a mind reader or something?”

Again, I was deflecting. Making light. It was easier to banter than to admit the innermost workings of my sexuality. I was so nervous.

“I’m just someone who shares your fetish. Think of us as complementary. Two sides of the same coin. There is nothing you can possibly say that will be too dirty or outlandish or off-putting to me.”

I took a deep breath. Between the pressure he exerted on my tense muscles and the soothing scent of spices in front of me, I was lulled into a psychic space of being able to open up about something I’d buried so deep inside me that I thought I’d never let it out. “I…uh… Well, you know those old Betty Boop cartoons? The black and white ones from like the twenties or thirties?”

“Of course.”

Phew.
Well that was something.

“Do you remember the one where the bad wolf captures her and ties her to the train tracks?” I asked, my voice shaky.

“Oh yes,” he said in a way that suggested he really did have a similar side to his psyche.

“I have often played that image in my mind when I wanted to turn myself on.”

“With a lover?” he asked.

If only. If I had I may not have been so frightened of bringing it up.

“No. Alone.” It wasn’t easy to admit.

“While touching yourself?”

He sure knew how to put me on the spot and delve further into something that was uncomfortable.

“Yes.”

There it was. The truth. I was relieved as soon as I’d admitted it. Had I really been so ashamed to let on that I masturbated and had fantasies? It seemed silly as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

“What did you think about?”

There he went again, probing into the depths of what I had been hiding.

I summoned my courage. There was no reason to hold back. I knew so rationally, but to own my fantasies was tough. I grabbed his hand from my shoulder and held it. Then I took another deep breath. “I thought about what it would be like to be her. To be tied. To be powerless to move.”